


Bound

by Kerfunkulus



Series: Bound [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Azkaban, Explicit Language, First War with Voldemort, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Poetry, Rhyming, Slavery, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 13:57:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5336576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerfunkulus/pseuds/Kerfunkulus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The prince's other tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bound

The last bell tolls, and all is well below;  
familiar underbelly, subtle glow  
of silver, and patrician feasts at night.  
The joy of basking in reflected light.

But he has nobler feasts to go to, so  
hold to the dark; ignore the serpent's glow.  
For this one night, pretend you do not know...  
...evade the ghosts, and now he's free to go.

The tower's dark, the castle's night is still.  
He walks in wonder up the gentle hill.  
A cake, some wine, a piece of parchment, mud;  
A halo streaming round a head of blood.

The rain-sopped Scottish night concedes to day -  
please her enough; she might just let him stay.  
His life, his anything, to steal this day,  
and _anything_ if he could get away

from these four walls, sick clotted pail, cruel grille,  
which stands guard blindly on the windowsill.  
Strange darkness, where her blazing strands of hair  
Ooze from infected walls, the dark, the chair.

The day is come at last, and with it pain.  
The lumps of clotted darkness clog his brain.  
The rampant, rampant hope is still up there.  
But there's no hope nor comfort in this lair.

Down through the clotted sickness, clotted mud,  
The mud still clotted to the matted blood.  
Up through the stinking castle and the rain;  
Down, down, suck oozing eyes and hungry drain,

which pulls the cold sweet silence from his mind  
and makes him struggle with the binding ties.  
"Headmaster, is that wise?" A gargoyle's head  
unwinds itself from memories of his bed  


of straw. The apparition, terrible, thunder-bright  
pulls him, unwilling, into fev'rish light.  
Suppose you brewed with these stones? Rule of five...  
"Suppose you could escape from here, alive?"

"Suppose you're really out in the cold air.  
Suppose you just sit nicely in this chair.  
Suppose you let the foolish wandwork flow  
around you, then you might be free to go;..."

"...there are, you see, certain enchantments..."  
"No."  
"Then you don't wish to leave here?"  
"Yes, oh yes..."

"Come then, dear boy, and it will not be long.  
Do as I say, and soon you will be gone".

"Ah, there's the bitch, seems he's been brought to heel..."  
"Where are your manners? Kneel for your master. KNEEL!"  
"Well, not his master, no, but spell's intent..."  
"Yes, yes. The ritual. It's past time we went".

"Just as you wish, Sir."And so, "Protego". -  
And other spells it's not our place to know.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Tranformation by Zeebee, and the wonderful Freedom is Slavery by Delphi.
> 
>  
> 
> Links to the fics:
> 
>  
> 
> https://www.fanfiction.net/s/566763/1/Transformation
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/29724


End file.
